


together

by talionprinciple (Triskai)



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Other, ambiguously gendered anri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 06:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14302644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskai/pseuds/talionprinciple
Summary: On the Road of Sacrifices, Anri makes a request.





	together

“I still dream,” Anri says, “of the other children—do you remember them, Horace?”

It is dark, save for the bonfire’s weak orange light. It always seems to be dark these days. The sun is ever just beyond the horizon, staining the sky blood-red but never quite lighting up the world below. They are not far from the cathedral now, and neither of them knows what they will find there. Aldrich had awoken, yes – oozed his considerable bulk out of his coffin, but had he stayed? Does the fat deacon yet live? (If he does, Horace thinks, the man is likely on his way to becoming like Aldrich himself.) 

Would the piles and piles of little children’s bones still be there, or had they burned to ash like everything else in this dying world?

Horace grunts. Yes, he remembers.

“Perhaps it’s a little silly, but… I think of us as avenging spirits, sometimes.” Anri laughs, quietly. “Oh, it’s so dramatic when I say it aloud. But it’s comforting, I think. To believe the others might lend us their support, from beyond the grave.”

Horace remains silent, staring into the bonfire’s gentle glow. He doesn’t think it’s silly at all. To tell the truth, what he thinks of Anri cannot be put into words with any language he knows, even if he were capable of speaking them. But ever since the two of them had started along the Road of Sacrifices, Anri has been set upon by fits of melancholy that drive them to delve into old memories of darkness and terror. When they stop to rest, Anri awakes in a panic, crying of a monster, a great ravenous beast.

Watching Anri suffer has taken more of a toll than the journey itself. Horace does not know what to do.

“It comforts me, as well, to believe some higher force drives us to seek Aldrich. At times… I think about giving up. Leaving the world to its devices, and seeking peace in some forgotten corner. It is a cowardly thought, I know. But Horace, I am afraid of Aldrich.” Anri is looking away from him, their gauntleted hands clenching and unclenching in the ragged fabric of their tabard. “There is nothing stopping me from running away, is there? Only…”

They trail off. For a while, the only sound is the gentle susurration of fabric as they twist and twist it between metal fingers. A jumble of words pass through Horace’s mind; reassurances, meaningless platitudes, oh, he was never good at comforting others, and that was when he still had a tongue. But there is something Anri is not saying. Horace can feel it like a palpable tension. He doesn’t know what else to do – he puts his hand on Anri’s arm, trying to establish contact, to reach in and pluck out the words Anri holds close to their chest.

Anri startles at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. Instead they look directly at Horace. He wishes they would take their helmet off so he can see their expression.

Anri whispers. “I don’t want to leave you, Horace.”

Horace goes rigid. Something rises up in his chest, a feeling so strong that he’s taken by an urge to rip open his ribcage and pull it out. He had long since accepted his devotion to Anri as an unequal thing, like a knight’s loyalty to their master, and that had been enough, that had been acceptable. But now—Anri is half-standing, suddenly frantic, taking Horace’s outstretched hand in both of theirs as if he might slip away from them at any moment, as if he were dangling from a precipice, threatening to fall beyond their reach.

“Horace”—and they are speaking rapidly now, fervent—“if I were to go, to abandon this onerous duty and go somewhere far, far away – you would come with me? Only, if you will not, then I would much rather stay here with you, even if we must face Aldrich, because—”

Horace lifts his other hand to Anri’s face, cupping their helmet as if he would their cheek. They stop mid-sentence, and for a moment it is so quiet that he can hear them breathing. (Horace is afraid that they will finish their sentence. He will surely die if they do not.) Both of them are still in full armor, but he can see the firelight glinting in Anri’s eyes through the slits in their helmet. He’s never felt so close to another person. Like any small movement from Anri could rend his heart open.

“Oh, please say you will.” (Is Anri crying?) “I could not bear it…”

_Of course,_ he thinks. _Where would I go, if I were not by your side? How could I ever want to leave?_ —And then he says it with his hands, in slow and deliberate motions.

“I am with you. Always.”


End file.
